


Spieluhr

by Tommykaine



Series: Hang the DJ [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Challenge Response, Ficlet Collection, Multi, Not Quite Songfics, One Shot Collection, but almost, copying and reposting this work elsewhere without my permission is strictly forbidden!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2019-11-19 09:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18134246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommykaine/pseuds/Tommykaine
Summary: A collection of short stories inspired by various songs. I've collected them together as they are much shorter than my usual ones and I do not want to spam the category.





	1. Delta

**Author's Note:**

> This first one is inspired by the song but even more by the video for Delta by C2C.
> 
> It was also written for the 5th Week of LDF's challenge called COW-T, for week 5, using the prompt "scontro" (crash / clash)

It showed up out of nowhere.

Nobody knew where it came from, or why. Nobody even cared to.

We would deal with it in the same way we always did. It was a given that it would fall.

I knew that and yet, I couldn't help but feel some reluctance before giving the order.

I'd reigned without war for decades. Despite our reputation as warmongers and conquerers, I'd always hoped I'd never have to see the day where our power went challenged and we were pushed to strike in retaliation.

It was all that we'd always done, all that we always would do.

After all, we thought we were prepared for anything.

 

I tried to warn them that something this would come.

I've been telling them for years, just as my father did before me, and his father before that. Still, nobody wanted to listen.

Even now that it did, the only thing they can think of doing is what they've always done.

I've tried to ask audience to the king, but the marshal got in my way and sneered at me.

Acting as if this was an enemy like many others, something to crush without a second thought.

Yet I feel that violence is not the solution. It never has been, it only ever made things worse.

They've just been unable to see it.

 

I ordered them to go at it with all the firepower that we had.

The marshal assured me that this would work.

Even when the enemy didn't budge.

Even when it somehow kept turning everything against us.

Still we didn't relent. What else could we do?

There has to be something it will be weak against.

 

Over and over they tried and tried, only for it to repel their hits every single time.

By this point I know that I will have to do something about it myself, but what can I do? I am but one man.

If only the king would listen...

But the anger is poisoning his mind, his worry for his subjects has driven him to become ruthless and confide fully in the plans of the marshal.

Or rather, the only plan the man ever had, which is to hit hard and, when that doesn't work, try to hit even harder, using more and more powerful weapon.

If we keep going like this, it will only destroy us.

I think that, deep down, the king already knows. Yet he feels he is powerless.

Even if I could reach him, what reasoning could I bring for him to believe that the same thing that always allowed us to get through every conflict will not work this time too?

 

There has to be another way.

That is what I keep hoping, but even so, what?

Nobody knows what to do at this point. Even the marshal is wavering at the thought of using our ultimate weapon against it.

What if... what if that also ends up retorting against us?

What if that's what will be the end of us?

In all of this, we never once stopped to consider whether this entity is even a threat or not.

Even if it wasn't, by now it's too late.

There is no other choice. We have to destroy it or die trying.

That is what the marshal keeps saying, and it sounds right, and still...

I look out of my throne room towards it, and I freeze.

Someone... someone is going towards it.

Alone. Unarmed.

The marshal doesn't even try to stop me as I walk past him, looking at me with a mixture of resignation and awe.

I don't know what that man is doing, nor what he has in mind, but I can't let him endanger himself just because I don't know what to do.

 

Nobody tries to stop me as I start walking towards it.

Maybe nobody cares, or maybe nobody dares to.

Either way, my heart is filled with trepidation.

It would be a lie to say I know what I'm doing.

It's more like a hunch. A vague feeling, closer to an inspiration than a certainty.

I always thought that a prophet was supposed to have all the answers. I thought I did, until now.

It doesn't take too long for me to cross the barrier, the same thing that prevented our weapons from affecting it.

I supposed if they'd tried to get past it, the reaction would not have been favorable.

I don't even know that it won't be the same for me, before long, but I have to try.

 

My subjects are kneeling down before me as I walk, making my way towards the unknown entity.

I feel unworthy of such praise. I've done nothing but endanger their life even further. Countless men have fallen for my inability to find a solution that went beyond what we always did. Their friends and family, and I can't stand the thought that they all perished for nothing.

I make my way towards it with long strides, finally reaching the man that I'd seen in the distance.

It is then that I recognize him. It is the high priest.

He used to occupy an important position, allegedly, but nowadays nobody pays attention to religious matters. Especially when the men before him have always opposed violence, and so has he.

He stands in front of it, seemingly in awe, but still he turns around and gasps as he notices me.

I put my hand on his shoulder and make him move away in a wordless order. He doesn't dare to object.

I stand right in front of it proudly, straightening my back as I face it.

_If you have to take anyone_ , I think, _take me_.

I'm the one who failed my men. I'm the one who ordered the attack. I'm your enemy, and not them.

And if there is anything I can do for you to spare them...

I gasp.

It suddenly opens.

And as it does, right in the moment when it does, I finally understand.

 

The light invests everyone before it, and with it the realization, a sudden overwheming sense of peace and happiness.

My eyes fill with tears, but even so, with the corner of my eye I can see my king falling on his knees before it, weeping as the weight of his mistakes and the extent of his foolishness is suddenly revealed to him, together with the entity's boundless understanding and forgiveness, for his limits as a mere man, for his ignorance and his foolish decisions.

We all weep at its beauty, and finally, for the first time in centuries our kind knows peace.

 


	2. Nord Sud Ovest Est

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot is inspired by the song Nord Sud Ovest Est by 883!
> 
> It was also written for the 5th Week of LDF's challenge called COW-T, for week 5, using the prompt "in fuga" (running away)

 

 

The tall stranger entered the bar in the middle of the afternoon, when most of the usual customers hadn't even thought of showing up yet.

I was the notable exception, although there was a good reason for this.

Namely, my wife deciding to run off with our kid.

Not that I could entirely blame her. She also had her good reasons.

Still, it means that I had nowhere else to be except here in front of a bottle and a glass that I kept filling as soon as I emptied its contents.

The barman didn't say anything, but I could feel the weight of his stare even without looking up.

I didn't care. I didn't have to worry about coming back late and explaining myself, after all.

He also soon had to worry about other things once the unknown man came in, taking the seat right next to mine and asking for a shot of whiskey, placing his gun on the counter together with his money.

I saw the barman stiffen at first, then he hurried to follow his request, hands shaking as he poured the amber liquid in his glass.

Maybe it was the alcohol that made me bolder, maybe the thought of having nothing to lose. Either way, I raised my own glass and clinked it against the man's.

"Cheers".

The stranger looked at me with a mixture of suspicion and confusion, but he also raised his glass.

"Cheers", he said. His voice was deep and smooth, and his dark eyes glinted with amusement.

The barman glanced at me, then at him, clearly both alarmed and confused, but he soon seemed to decide it was best if he stayed away because he rushed to serve another customer as soon as the man approached the bar.

I don't know what drove me to keep talking, but I guess I must have felt lucky, or maybe I was miserable enough not to care.

"So what brings you here?", I asked, and the man hesitated before answering.

"I'm searching for a woman"

I chuckled.

"Not sure you've chosen the best place for that".

The few women that lived here weren't exactly notable for their looks, aside from the ones that used them for their profession. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable place for a woman to live.

"I've got my reasons to believe she went this way", he said with a small smirk.

I shrugged.

"Must be a special one, to get you to come all the way to this shithole", I said with a raucous laugh, downing the rest of my drink and filling it up again. My bottle was half-empty again.

"Small stature, black hair. Might have tried to pass herself as a young boy", he said, before taking out a picture from his pocket.

I picked it up and squinted, trying to make out the features of the girl in question. Not exactly what I would call a beauty. Rather plain-looking overall, and fairly young. Probably barely young enough to marry.

"Your woman?". I asked, and he smirked again.

"Oh, not at all. Wouldn't say she's _anyone's_ woman, although I know a few guys who would say otherwise".

There was something sinister about his expression. Even in my state, I felt a small shiver run down my spine.

"Why are you looking for her?".

Maybe she had her reason for not wanting to be found by him.

"She's got something that belongs to me", he finally said, caressing his gun and looking around at the other patrons. "She can't run away forever".

"Guess so", I muttered, suddenly regretting my decision to talk to him. Whatever he was involved in, I wasn't sure it was anything I should be butting my nose into.

For that reason, I was fairly glad when I saw him get up and get his things again, especially his gun.

"Would you be so kind as to take care of my bill?", he asked with a sinister smirk.

I gulped and couldn't stop myself from nodding. In that moment I felt I wouldn't dare to say no to anything he might have asked of me. It was as if there was some sort of powerful aura coming off from him.

"Thank you, kind stranger".

He walked out of the room and I let out a loud sigh.

I wasn't sure why, but somehow I got the feeling I just escaped some kind of dreadful fate...

 


	3. Du Riechst So Gut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot is inspired by the song Du Riechst So Gut by Rammstein!
> 
> It was also written for the 5th Week of LDF's challenge called COW-T, for week 5, using the prompt "in fuga" (running away)
> 
> STORY WARNING: Somewhat explicit scene of sexual assault.

I would know this smell amongst any other.

It is the smell of fear, the smell of sweat and dust and tears, the smell of sweet spice and almonds and spilled perfume.

The same smell you had on you when I first saw you.

I could tell you realized your fate in that moment, I saw you gasp and clutch your hand against your chest, the tarot card you'd been holding falling down on the table.

I smirked and said nothing, did nothing but stare at you as you found an excuse to get away.

I knew you would not get far.

I'd been observing you - of course you wouldn't know. I have my ways of going unnoticed.

Human legs can only run so far...

You ran long and hard, as much as you could and I let you, amused to see how far you would get before your legs gave out.

Then I reached you before you could even think of screaming.

My hand was on your mouth, my knife against your throat as I I told you to do as I said, my pretty little dove.

You trembled and wept, but complied.

Must you have worn so much intricate clothing? It did nothing but irritate me as I tore it all apart.

I'm sure you must have known what I was after. Still, you did nothing but tremble as even the last layer disappeared, leaving you bare and exposed in front of me, your dark skin shaking under my gaze.

Your smell was so overpowering, I barely could hold back enough to get inside you, breaking your hymen and marking you with my scent.

You wept so sweetly then, your voice was like the most melodious songbird I ever heard right before I snapped its neck.

Not that I would ever do that to you. I would not waste the occasion and dispose of you so quickly, no. I relished in the moment, thrusting myself slowly inside your warm flesh, feeling the blood running down your thighs and digging my claws into your flesh, howling out in pleasure as my seed spilled inside of you.

I pulled off your red cape and covered you up with it, shielding your naked body from unwanted eyes as you wept and shivered, curling up like a wounded animal.

I grinned and grasped on your hair, whispering against your ear that your time was had not come yet.

That maybe you would be the one to come after me next.

Then I sank my teeth in your neck, spreading my curse through your veins as you screamed and writhed in pain, abandoning you under the pale full moon.

I know you've been chasing after me since then. Just as I know that one day you will find me.

And that day, whether it's to cut me open and fill me with stones, or join me as I roam the night and feast on the blood of the innocent, I will be here, waiting for you as I've always been.

  
  
  


 


	4. The Childcatcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one-shot is inspired by the song ChildCatcher by Patrick Wolf
> 
> It was also written for the 5th Week of LDF's challenge called COW-T, for week 5, using the prompt "in fuga" (running away)
> 
> WARNINGS: mentions of CSA, character death, violence.

I didn't know what I would say once I got to you.

I didn't know what I expected.

Closure? Pleading?

A chance to pummel your face in with my own fists?

I still remember your hands against my body.

I still remember how many times I threw up as I thought back to those days.

Your hands, my legs spread apart, and your pale eyes filled with lust as your small mouth curved up in a crooked smile.

I've woken up to your disgusting smell a hundred times only to run to the toilet and throw up.

I've let a hundred men and women use me just because I didn't know how to say no, or rather I didn't know I deserved to say no.

And it was all, all of it was because of you.

I really wanted to kill you.

I didn't know if I could, but I know that I would try if I had the chance.

Still, it seemed like you were gone.

Gone as soon as my mother found out - and so did the mothers of the other children you ruined with your disgusting hands and those thin bright red lips that always knew how to convince us to keep your secrets.

It was either clothes that we could not affords, or things that we were not allowed to play with at home, or maybe words of praise that we never received.

All of it, all of it at a small price... or so we thought.

It makes me fucking sick to think about it now. It makes me want to throw up until there's nothing left in my stomach.

I know you will never pay for what you've done. Not under conventional laws, at least.

So I had to take the matter into my own hands.

 

You didn't even seem surprised to see me.

Nor particularly worried, nor apologetic in the slightest.

You recognized me right away. I'm not sure if I would have preferred that to the alternative.

You told me you remembered me.

That we had some fun times together.

You told me I should be mad.

That you never did anything that anyone else wouldn't have done. That surely many others would have reached out to me and touched me like you did, if only they weren't such fucking cowards.

But you, you said, you were different. And so was I.

You knew that I wouldn't say no.

If I didn't run away, wasn't it kinda like saying that it was ok? If I never struggled and I never told anyone anything, wasn't it like saying that I didn't mind after all.

So all in all what did I have to complain? If I didn't run to save myself, if I didn't get away, then I deserved whatever happened to me. In fact, you were pretty sure I even enjoyed it, deep inside. You were pretty sure you even saw me c-

 

I didn't let you finish.

I hit you, again and again, until you stopped moving, and then I kept hitting until your face was little more than a mass of blood and bones and brain matter on the floor.

Of one thing I am certain now, at least.

You will be no longer catching any other children in your net ever again.


	5. Every You Every Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short thing is inspired by the song Every You Every Me by Placebo
> 
> It was also written for the LDF's challenge called COW-T, for week 6, using the prompt "Talking and communication issues"

Everytime it's always the same story.

No matter how much I try, it's like we're not even hearing each other. Or like we're complete strangers.

 

Every time we make love I feel like I'm being used, and I can't even tell what it is that you do, or maybe I'm the one to blame. To be fair, it's not like I don't enjoy it, but my heart feels heavy afterwards. And a bit filthy.

But any time I try to explain this, you snap at me as if I'm accusing you, and maybe that's what it sounds like. Not to mention, I realize it's confusing how I panic and get upset whenever you suggest putting a ban on anything sexual.

It might feel weird and kind of dirty afterwards, sure, but not doing anything makes me feel even worse. As if you're going to discard me soon. As if I'm not even good enough for that.

It doesn't help that I never know what you're thinking.

 

You got so mad when I got your name tattooed on my arm. I just wanted... proof I guess. Something tangible that tied me to you and marked me as yours, and that was the first thing my stupid brain came up with.

I thought it would be a nice surprise. You're always so jealous, I figured it would not hurt if anyone could tell at first glance that I am in fact already taken, that you've already marked your territory. I figured you'd find it romantic, maybe even kind of sexy.

Instead you called me dumb and asked me what I would do if we were to break up, which really set me off because I thought you meant you wanted to break up. Why, why would you bring it up otherwise? Why would you just say something like that? As a cruel joke? As some sort of punishment?

I ended up begging you not to leave me, and you said you wouldn't as long as I stop doing that kind of stupid shit.

I'm really trying to. I really am.

 

I know I'm selfish and unkind, that everything you dish out I always give back tenfold, and for that I am sorry.

Sometimes my mind, it... well it just latches onto the first excuse to snap at you, and all the poison I've been swallowing up to that point comes undone and all I can think of is how much I want to hurt you, even if I don't even mean half of the things I say.

And I know it drives you up the wall, I know it's unfair, I know but I can't help it, no matter how many times I try to.

It makes me hate myself everytime, and even when we make up afterwards I know, I know that what I said will linger, and that you will always ask yourself whether I really meant that or whether it was just the anger talking.

I know, because I always ask myself that too.

 

I know one day you will leave me, I know because that's always what happens.

I always end up latching myself to someone, bruising them up until they can't take anymore, and then all that's left here is my stuff and the pieces of my broken heart, the bitter sound of my regret and all the words I've swallowed and held back for the sake of trying to make things work.

 

Every time I tell myself it's different.

Every time it's a different me and a different you, yet somehow the story is always the same.

 


	6. Fourth of July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is inspired by the song "Fourth of July" by Sufjan Stevens.

 

They say better the evil that you know, but in the end, it only makes everything worse.

I really, truly believed you would make it. Even as the tests came out positive, even as the doctor's eye avoided me as I asked about what options were left.

You've survived worse. It wasn't as bad as the last time. That was what they said.

So it didn't make sense.

It had spread too fast. We didn't catch it soon enough. Hundreds of tests upon tests and they couldn't catch it.

I remember laughing then. It had to be a joke. An unfunny one, such poor taste really, but it just had to.

I've tried to turn to God, but the prayers felt hollow. What sort of cruel God would do that? Give us a few years more to believe all would work out, that you were recovered.

Only to take it all away in less than a month.

They said it would take three, four at most, but you didn't even make it through the first.

I wasn't even there when you passed. It happened overnight. I had promised to bring you flowers. You said the room was so dreary.

My arms were full of pink lilies. The nurse stopped me.

I still feel the smell all around me. The soft pressure on my arms. The wrinkling of plastic as my arms tightened around the bouquet.

Three weeks. Only three weeks. How could they not have known? How could I not have known?

In truth I think that deep down, I did.

I did as soon as the coughing started. But I did not want to see. I did not want to believe that we were back at the start, not after how hard it had been already. It wasn't fair. It still isn't.

And in the end I know it's useless to want to know who to blame.

The doctors, the technicians, God himself. Everyone and no one.

What does it even matter? It will not bring you back.

And even though you said that it was for the best, that even if you somehow could survive, it would only come back to haunt you, again and again, that you could feel its presence crawling inside you like an unseen evil ever since the last time, I still find myself wishing that things could have gone differently.

What am I even supposed to do now? "Move on"? How do you move on from losing your other half? How do you swim against the current with only one arm and leg? How do you save your breath with only one lung?

There's nothing for me here now. I know you would say I'm being overdramatic, and that I've got plenty to live for, but I just can't see it.

I know you told me not to isolate myself, but I can't stand the endless empty-hearted condolences, and not even the few heartfelt ones.

As I stand here in silence like a deserting soldier, the first fireworks sound like a barrage of shots from the executioners, aiming straight for my heart.

So I stand here and cry, while I think back to when we told each other that we would at least still have the last Fourth of July.

If nothing else, at least I know this pain will not last forever.

Sooner or later, we're all gonna die.

Even I.

 

 


End file.
